Scarred Asphalt (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Thorne had a rough day at work and was finding solace in a
cerveza while she kicked back in her recliner. She was still wearing her blue
jumpsuit and medic badge, but didn’t care. She had lost two vics and was
getting ready to suspend one of her medics.

She had been made an FTO, Field Training Officer, right
before the wreck, and these past months, she had been working with an FNG with
Saber. They had a woman who called 911 at least once a month, a cutter who they
sent repeatedly to the psyche ward for a seventy-two hour observation. Thorne
and Saber talked to her, always telling her to stay on her meds, that just
because she felt better didn’t mean she
was
better. It was the same song
and dance every call.

Today, Saber was working with a new girl, so Thorne got
stuck with the rookie and got the frequent flyer call. The guy had been on
three of the previous calls, and today he had had enough. He actually told her
vic how to slit her wrists: Up the road, not across the street in a warm tub.

Thorne had almost knocked the fucker out. Thorne never
screamed, but she screamed today. Then she went to the captain and complained
to him about it, but all he did was write up the little prick. That wasn’t good
enough. She would go higher tomorrow, over her captain’s head. Hell, even Saber
was pissed at the rookie. They cared about their patients and when someone
infringed on that by telling a schizophrenic how to kill herself properly,
well, they got pissed and wanted to stomp a mud hole in that ass.

When Thorne emptied her bottle, she rose from the chair and
headed for the kitchen to grab another. With a groan, she tossed the bottle
into the trash and opened the fridge. She bent over to reach in for another bottle
when she heard Dalton’s truck door slam, quickly followed by the front door.

Thorne decided to be nice and grabbed another beer for him.
With a waltz in her step, she headed toward the living room just as he threw
his keys on the hallway table. She lifted up her hand, dangling the beer out to
him when she leaned against the corner of the entry way.

“Not fucking cool, Thorne.” Dalton glared at her, turning
away from her and stalking toward the living room to flop down on the couch.

Thorne winced, having forgotten that he was not allowed to
drink while he was on lock down. “Dalton…” She followed him into the living
room and plopped down next to him, still offering up the beer. “It’s not
illegal if you don’t get caught.”

His face split into a wide grin, a slight nudge to her arm
with his elbow. “Thorne Lopez is contributing to the delinquency of a near
parolee? What the fuck is this world coming to?”

Thorne found it impossible not to return his disarming
smile. “Yeah, well, just don’t tell anyone, and I think we’ll be okay.”

Dalton took the bottle from her, but she could tell there
was something off in his demeanor by the distracted nod that he gave her.

“What’s wrong, Dalton?”

His sensual lips made an unpleasant twist as he stared at
the bottle before he took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand, let out a loud belch followed by a sardonic chuckle. “Shit at work.”

“What kind of shit?”

“The ex kind of shit.”

Thorne’s brows shot up, too surprised to do more than nod.
Her last run in with Gabby wasn’t exactly the best kind of interaction. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. “She got
hired on at Throttle.”

Thorne was taking a drink of her own beer when he dropped
the bomb on her. She almost choked, jerking forward to cough up the liquid that
went down the wrong pipe. “Wha—what?” she managed to gasp out while she wiped
at her tear-filled eyes.

“Fucking Styx hired her on because she told him that she was
my ol’ lady. I argued with him to fire her, but he refuses to listen. Says she
brings in too much business on the weekends to fire her.”

She heard the distinct mockery in his voice when he
explained what had happened. “Try talking to Romeo?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Thorne slowly nodded, tucking an errant strand behind
her ear as she turned her head to face him.

“She has pissed off every fucking female in the club. She
disrespects them and has told everyone that I’m hers. She even had a standoff
with the twins.”

Like she knew who the fuck the twins were? Not that she
really even cared, but it was obvious that Dalton did, so that meant something.
“Go off on her then.”

“Been there, done that. Hasn’t worked yet. In fact, it’s
pretty much made it worse. It’s like she can’t get enough of making my life a
living hell.”

Thorne was taken a bit off guard by how easily he accepted
that his ex was working at the club. Maybe a little too easily. “You seem to be
taking all of this in stride.”

He gave her a brutal and unfriendly stare, the ultra-marine
colored eyes lit with sudden anger. “In stride? The fuck you say.” His curt
voice lashed out at her as he leaned forward toward her. “I used to love going
to work. Now? I don’t want to take a fucking step outside that door. All I want
to do is wrap my fucking hands around her throat and squeeze the life right out
of her for making my life miserable. If Muerte finds out that she is working as
a stripper, he’ll flip his shit. But it will get worse because it’s a SixGun
establishment.

“I can’t stress that enough, Thorne.” Dalton set his elbows
on his knees, emotions crashing through his eyes like tidal waves washing upon
the shores. Now they were pleading, almost as if he were begging her to
understand. “After what they did the other night? This will be the icing on the
cake if they find out.”

The strain in his voice tugged at her heart strings. She
wasn’t too sure about the inner-workings of club life, even with Hawkeye being
her uncle. Maggie was more into the bad boys, not Thorne.

“Get in the truck.” Thorne’s voice was firm, final.

Perfectly arched brows shot up at her demand. “A little bit
of redneck foreplay?”

Thorne pushed up from the couch and set her bottle on top of
the coffee table. Her fists fell to her hips when she straightened up, which
jutted her hip out and to the left, allowing her to tap her booted foot
impatiently. “Go get in the truck, Dalton Kilpatrick. Now.”

Dalton threw up both hands in defense, though one was still
holding his beer bottle. He set it on the table then rose up. His eyes met her
gaze. “What are you doing, Thorne?”

“You’ll see.”

She had already had enough of the bullshit and she just met
the bitch a couple weeks back. It was already too much drama in her life and
she liked her life drama free. Not like housing a possible felon didn’t have
its drama, but now that a psycho ex-girlfriend was added to the mix?

Thorne scooped her keys off the foyer table, opened the
front door, and motioned for Dalton to walk out before her. “After you, sweet
cheeks.”

* * * *

The trip to the club was quiet. Thorne didn’t have much to
say, and if she said anything at the moment, it might be taken as her creating
a hostile environment. The more she thought about Gabrielle Velasquez, the
madder she got.

Every bitch in the city got their panties wet when Dalton
walked into a room. They all but orgasmed when he noticed them. Then they
pretty much passed the fuck out when he smiled or spoke to them. But Gabby was
taking this stalker she-bitch thing a little too far.

Thorne had known girls like Gabby her whole life and she
knew how to handle them. Show them who the real bitch was. Gabby hadn’t figured
out who she was yet, but when the light clicked, it was going to get ghetto up
in there.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” Dalton looked at her like she
had grown two heads when they pulled into the parking lot of Throttle Boss.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?” Thorne stared straight at
Dalton, not in the mood for his dominant side at the moment. “If the bitch
won’t listen to you, she’s obviously
loco
. It’s time a woman steps in
and tells her to move the fuck on.”

Dalton shook his head, a tiny movement allowed him to adjust
in the seat to get a better look at Thorne. “I’m not hiding behind your skirt,
Thorne. You go in there, I’m gonna look like a fucking pussy that needs a
kitten to handle my shit.”

“It’s a good thing this kitten sharpened her claws then,
huh?” Thorne gave Dalton a smile, not caring that it probably didn’t come close
to meeting the dead pan gaze. She opened the Tahoe’s door and jumped out, then
slammed it behind her, not waiting for Dalton to follow.

Just as she reached the front doors, the bouncer lifted his
hand to chest level, stopping Thorne from waltzing on in. Her eyes dropped to
the hand then rose back up to look at the guard.

She was about to smart off to him, but was rudely cut off by
Dalton, who was jogging up to them. “Let her in, Willy. She’s here on
business.”

Glad to see he saw the error in his thought process.

Thorne never acknowledged Dalton as she stepped inside the
club. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the neon and dim lighting, but
she was taken aback by the layout and style of Throttle Boss.

The club was laid out different than any of the normal strip
clubs she had seen. There was your main stage at the far wall, but there were
tinier stages throughout the club with chairs surrounding the circular platform
for the men—or women—to sit and drink. The color scheme was blues, purples, and
pinks; soft, warm, and welcoming. What wasn’t done in chrome was done in gloss
black and there was Harley memorabilia everywhere. It felt like a mix of
burlesque meets biker, and it worked.

Impressed, Thorne nodded to herself, already scoping out
where the crazy bitch was. It was busy for a Thursday night, or so she thought.
There were plenty of men milling around, though their main focus was on the
center stage as the DJ announced the next dancer.

Oh, goody goody gum drop.

“Thorne.” Dalton’s voice held warning in it. “Behave.”

Well, now wasn’t that a party foul?

She turned to face him, perplexed at his sudden need to
dictate what she would do. “I’m sorry. Are you my dad? No? Okay then. You have
no right to be telling me shit, let alone to behave.”

Thorne almost felt a moment of guilt when Dalton visibly
winced at her verbal attack.
Almost
. Watching Gabby take the stage was
quite the show in itself. She knew how to work the men, Thorne would give her
that much. Each sway of her hips and slight glance toward a male caught their
attention, and when she showed a touch of skin? She had them eating out of the
palm of her hand.

Bravo.

The whore knew how to sell herself.

It was a fleeting thought that made her snicker to herself,
but the idea of getting up on the stage and showing the Latina up was a
definite possibility. It wouldn’t be hard by the looks of it either. Gabby
didn’t know how to move in fluid motions, her moves were jerky and forced, but
the men were eating it up. Thorne knew the routine. Gabby was new and she would
be old news in a week or two, unless she started offering blow jobs on the side
while giving lap dances.

Just by watching her dance, Thorne wondered how she was in
bed.
Couldn’t have been very good with the little range of movement that she
has
. But, considering how dominant Dalton was, the female didn’t have to
move much in order to get hers. He did all the work.

Feeling the heat hit her cheeks at the memory of the gym
escapade, Thorne cleared her throat as Gabby ended her set. “Thank God that’s
over. I can go scrub my eyeballs with bleach now.”

Before Dalton could get a word in edgewise, Thorne had left
him and was finding her way through the crowd to the place she had seen Gabby
disappear. It had to be the way into the back. The sounds of female voices over
the bass of the music that blared was a pretty good indication that Thorne was
in the right place.

B-I-N-G-O.

“Everyone out.” Authority reared its ugly head as her voice
deepened with the command.

It worked. Everyone but Gabby and the two identical twins
that Thorne assumed were Star and Cinnamon vamoosed.

“Are you working here, too, Scarface?” Gabby looked up into
her light studded mirror as she picked up a perfume container.

Thorne laughed as she stalked toward Gabby. She could see
how her own eyes had taken on a darker hue, stormy and full of violence that
needed to be unleashed. “Wow, if that is all you have for insults, Velasquez,
you do not need to have a battle of the wits with me. You’ll lose.”

“Well, why else would you be here? I’m sure with you looking
like the bride of Frankenstein, this would be the only place you’d be able to
get laid.” Gabby’s smug visage met Thorne’s fury head on. “Then again, the
local freak show just left town. You must have missed the memo.”

Yeah, there was no behaving.

Thorne lashed out to tangle her fingers into the curls of
the bitch and lifted. The movement forced Gabby to come straight up and out of
her chair with a squeal of pain, her tiny hands beating at Thorne’s grip.
Thorne gave the girl no time for thought as she spun Gabby around, and invaded
right into Gabby’s personal space as she snarled, “Are you sure you want to
give Dalton that blow job now,
puntha
? If you do, at least tell me what
my pussy tastes like on his dick.”

That hit home. Thorne saw something flicker behind the dark
eyes of the Latina right before they narrowed and she bared her teeth in sheer
rage.

“Fuck you.”

Thorne stepped back laughing. “Oh no, Dalton does a great
job of that all on his lonesome. This is your last warning, Gabby. He’s mine.
Back the fuck off or there’ll be more than just words next time.”

Gabby let loose a high pitched laugh, alerting Thorne that
the girl was nervous as well as angry, and that could very well be a bad
combination if Thorne didn’t play it out right.